Because you are the only one for me
by Gilbert Frost
Summary: He loves Francis. And I love him. /One-sided UsUk/


/ A/N: I'm not sure if this really counts as M rated, but I decided that it's better to play it safe. Also, English isn't my first language so please forgive me if there are some mistakes. ; w ; /

When I find Arthur standing behind my door, face flushed, raindrops and tears falling down his face, shaking, I'm a little confused at first.

"Francis", he whispers and my heart sinks and I let him hide his face in the crook of my neck. I'm not disgusted by his tears and saliva dirtying my skin, by hearing an adult man sobbing. I hold him and run my fingers through his messy and wet blond hair as I stare at the rain outside. We're still standing in my hall, door open and I'm a little bit cold. I don't care about it, I just hold Arthur.

I take him in; he's wiping his eyes, still shaking and new tears constantly streaming from his eyes. He still looks beautiful to me.

I close the door.

"I'm so pathetic", he says, laughing joylessly. "I'm so bloody pathetic and I will never learn."

We walk to the kitchen, I put water boiling for his tea. He doesn't even need to ask for it.

"I told him that I love him." His voice breaks at the end of the sentence. I shiver and I'm not sure if I want to hear more.

"He laughed at me."

I immediately turn to look at him, anger filling my mind. Laughed? Is he serious?

"That damned frog laughed at me", he repeats softly.

He dare he! I think.

"You deserve better than him", I say.

"I loved him for so long", he looks down at the table. I can see his hands shaking. I want to take his hands and hold them and warm them up and kiss every one of his pale, thin fingers.

"I know", I sigh and it hurts because it's true. He always loved him. He always loved Francis.

I pour tea into a cup and hand it to him. He glances at me thankfully, takes a sip and from his expression I can see that the tea tastes horrible. He still drinks it and it makes me glad, even just a little.

It goes just like every time. Now it's just too real – he was rejected and I can't encourage him to confess his feelings anymore and fuck, I'm so happy for it. He drinks two more cups of the horrible tea and he cries, mostly he just cries and god, I want to hold him and force him to believe that he doesn't need Francis.

"Can I sleep with you tonight?" he finally asks and it hurts almost physically and I know I should say no.

"I don't want to go home", he adds. I say yes.

He drinks one more cup of tea, probably out of pity.

When I'm finally under my blanket with him, my heart races in my chest and I just wish that he doesn't hear it.

His face is swollen from all the crying and I still hear a sob every now and then. He comes closer to me, I feel his cold nose against my neck again.

"Hold me", he whispers, and I hold him, eyes squeezed shut. My heart breaks a thousand times over, I know he isn't talking to me.

He is so soft and warm and he fits so perfectly in my arms.

When I think he is already sleeping, he suddenly speaks out again.

"Alfred", he says and I shiver. My name sounds so different when he says it. I love it.

"You're so good to me", he continues and I don't dare to say anything. "Alfred, please. Please."

I feel his hand wandering under my shirt.

"Fuck me", he begs. "I want to forget. Alfred, please."

I can't breathe. I can't move.

Here we are again, I think, and I want to cry. He sounds like he's asking for mercy.

"Alfred", he sobs, and the second I see the desperate tears glistening in his eyes again, I press my lips to his, draw him closer and he kisses me back, his other hand strokes me through my boxers and the other one is in my hair, and I'm not able to resist anymore.

We kiss and stroke and caress and roll on the bed, we don't have clothes on anymore and he still shakes a little.

I make love to him and he begs me to fuck him harder and I make love to him and I'm breaking all the time. I'm tearing myself apart and I can't stop it from happening.

"Francis", he moans and his eyes are closed. Mine aren't. I can see his beautiful, flushed face and red lips and the sadness.

"Francis", and no, I think, Alfred. You have me. I'm so good to you. I will always be good to you. I will always take care of you. Just no Francis.

I make love to him and touch and kiss him everywhere where I know he loves to be touched and kissed, and he keeps saying Francis' name.

We move perfectly together, our skins glisten with sweat and he doesn't open his eyes for the whole time.

"Fr-Francis!" he holds me so tight as he comes, I let him do it and whisper over and over again:

"I love you, I love you, I love you."

And I mean it so much.

He loves Francis.  
And I love him.

I hold him all night and love him with my body at least three more times and he cries.

"Thank you, Alfred", he whispers, finally.

I feel sick and I hate myself so much as I brush his hair off his tired face.

"Sleep now", I tell him and I keep my arms around him until he falls asleep, and then I turn around, my back to him.

And it's my turn to cry.


End file.
